


You're Not On My List - Yet

by MelsaMoo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Injured Mercy, Kind of fuzzy on that, Mentioned Moira O'Deorain, Post-Recall, Pre-Recall, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes is a Softie, Short One Shot, Stolen Moments, or maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelsaMoo/pseuds/MelsaMoo
Summary: Even if their nanites didn't alert him to her, she would still know it was him - his smell was enough.Mercy/Reaper One-Shot.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	You're Not On My List - Yet

“Angela?”

It wasn’t like she didn’t know he was there. Despite the silence she could hear him. Well, not his footsteps - his nanites. Somehow, his nanites always annoyed her own. They were like 2 magnets, every time they came in contact they repulsed each other causing static to be heard by both. She never bothered to test, either both were positively charged or both were negative. She gave thought to the consequences of such knowledge but quickly dashed it away. As if she really needed another sense to tell her he was nearby. His smell was enough.

When you work long enough in a certain profession you slowly familiarize yourself with the scents of the job. Maybe it’s the specific cleaner used for the equipment, or perhaps the wooden door you used every day to get into the office, but for Mercy, these were all too simple. For her, the most recognizable scent had become bodies. Cold ones. Not the smell of antiseptic or the packages of gauze or even blood; she had desensitized herself to those smells altogether. No, it was the smell of cold, dead bodies that she memorized. The scent of skin with sweat still on it, the perfumes and colognes it may have worn and the cold smell it developed before it began to rot and decay.

It was how she knew it was him before he spoke. She could smell it over her own irony scent from the red pool gathering around her. And she groaned. Not entirely because of her own pain. That was mostly gone by now; shock can be one hell of a drug. Not to mention the nanites working quickly to mend her wounds. She didn’t even bother to struggle. She was too annoyed at the random mercenary who managed to catch her off guard during a mission to even care what he was here for.

Her tongue got caught on the blood in her mouth as she tried to speak, “what do you want-“ she spit out the blood to her left, “-Gabe.”

“Well, that’s one way to greet an old friend.”

She wasn’t phased. “And here I thought you were an honourable man. I can’t believe you chose now to kill me. Pfft. Well, fitting enough end anyway.Being sloppy seconds. Not even worth a fair fight. Like I could even win, right? ‘Put your pistol away, Mercy.’ Remember that?” She shifts and winces as the wounds that began closing ripped open a bit.

“Would you shut up, Ang.”

She lolls her head towards his direction, “what? Do you want a quiet kill? A mercy kill? Like there was no way I could survive this so you get to kill me now?” She sputters as she gathers more blood in her mouth to spit, “if I don’t get to fight back I’ve at least earned getting to bad mouth you.”

“Shut up. I’m not killing you.”

She looks to him, disgust burning through her pained face, “so you’re going to send one of your lackeys to kill me? Lazy.”

He crouches down in front of her, “now you’re making me want to kill you. Up and at ‘em.” He states as he gingerly gathers her legs and hooked her arms around his neck.

With a new confused and drowsy face, Angela wraps her arms around his neck and holds tight. “Did I not make the list.” She asks rhetorically, a comedic frown blooming on her face.

“Sorry, no call-back this time, Angel.” He replies, scooping her up and beginning the journey back to Overwatch’s base of operations.

“Pfft. I thought I’d pissed you off more than this to earn being on it.”

“Do you really want to be on the kill list, Angela? I never thought I’d hear the day." He laughs to himself, a gravelly sound Angela never thought she'd hear again. It sets wonder in her eyes and she can't quell it. "Do you need psychiatric help? You know there are many people who care about you and I implore you not to be suicidal.” He drowns on sarcastically. She's not used to his voice having such a comedic tone to it.

“I _do_ require medical attention." She laughs, coughing up a little blood before she looks to his mask, "Perhaps psychiatric help too, considering I'm imagining the world's most feared terrorist trying to save me," She wiggles a bit in his grasp and he chuckles at her; A comforting sound. "But there’s only one doc better than me and I’d rather die than be treated by Witch Nails.”

The mood is quickly dashed, “Don’t go there, Angie.” He grumbles, cutting off that avenue of conversation. He knew how she felt about the Blackwatch days and so did he. “Let sleeping dogs stay buried.”

“Speaking of which, where’s your grave, hm? I specifically remember laying you to rest.” She asks as she pokes him in the chest.

“Angie.” He admonishes her as he squeezes her a little too tight. She can hear a smile in his voice.

She presses on, “All I’m saying is I planned a damn beautiful funeral for you and you wasted it.” She sighs dramatically.

“Angie, if you weren’t hopped up on whatever morphine-like drug you got in that Valkyrie suit you wouldn’t be saying half these things." A laugh dares to escape him, and while he stops it, it doesn't escape Angela.

"That's what you think! I'm pretty sure I'm already dead so I'm just having a blast." She lets go of his neck and crosses her arms behind her head, causing him to quickly recorrect his hold on her. 

"I mean, I can drop you if you want Angie. That's definitely an option." He laughs at her as fear scrawls it's way on her face and she grabs back onto his neck. She winces a little in the process. 

It's quite the trek back to the base and near the end of their trip, the steady steps he takes are slowly lulling her to sleep.

"Eyes open, Angel." The voice is distant and tender. 

"No." She huffs as she cuddles further into his neck.

"You always were such a child." 

"And you were always such a grumpy man. Unless you had some drinks. Then you were fun," She comments as she works to find the most comfortable resting position in the crook of his neck. 

"If we're talking about me drinking, we're talking about you drinking. How many times do you remember drinking AND going back to your own room _alone_ , hm?" He taunts as he heaves her back up into a more comfortable carrying position - effectively jostling her awake. 

"Gabriel-"

"ah-ah-ah- He doesn't exist anymore, remember? You buried him." 

She lightly hits the side of his head, "I was going to say, 'Gabriel always made sure I made it back to my room, safe and sound,' Am I right?" 

"Mhmm, and how many times did Ms. Zeigler pretend to be drunk to get me to come back with her?" 

"It's Dr. Zeigler." She corrects absent-mindedly, her face blushing irrespective of the blood loss she's experiencing.

He chuckles a self-satisfactory sound that makes a medicated Angela quite undignified 

"Oh! Oh, how rich! Like you didn't know the entire time, every time!" She explodes as she hits the back of his head once more. 

"Seriously, Ange quit it with the head hitting, I've still got brains you know. My mask is coming loose too and, trust me, you don't want to see that."

A stupid smile spreads across her face, "Would that be enough to get me on the list?" 

An exasperated sigh escapes him before she delves her hands inside his hood looking for a clasp. He quickly drops her legs as she winces, but not nearly in as much pain as she was at the beginning of their trip. 

"Oh, come on! If I can't get on the list I've at least earned getting to see your face again," she pauses her hands still around his neck, "how do you say it again? Oh goodness, it's been years, but I'm sure I can remember it..."

"Anglea, cut it out. Get your hands off my mask, it's not going anywhere anytime so-"

"Shh!! I'm being a doctor right now, Gabriel. I expect your co-operation." She interrupts with a conniving smile planted on her lips. 

His posture shows he's given up, for whatever reason, "Will you let me finish bringing you back to base for medical attention if I let you?"

She's taken aback, "I wasn't expecting you to bargain with me, but yes. Yes, I will."

"Fine, once and done. Don't say I didn't warn you. You're not going to like what you see."

"Just shush, Gabe." 

He was right. She didn't like what she saw. She felt guilt immediately. Even though she knew the explosion at the base had nothing to do with her, she still felt guilty that she couldn't help them. Where his eyes used to be there was now a collection of nanites forming what should be his pupils - now bright red instead of their usual golden brown. Perhaps the most shocking of all was the loss of both his nose, his lips on the left side and most of his left cheek. She wasn't sure if it was her doctor's instinct or something more that drove her to gently cup the side of his face that was no longer there. Her thumb gently stroked the exposed cheekbone, mind half wondering if he could actually feel it. His eyes refused to meet hers and she wasn't sure why. 

"Would you stop staring." 

She shook her head gently, his voice not able to fully pull her out of her reverie. Words poured out of her mouth before, she had a chance to run it through her usual filters. "I miss your eyes, Gabe. Golden brown and so soft. They always knew what to do. Even in battle one look from you always calmed me down and helped me stay focused. Maybe it wasn't your eyes. I do say, red suits you quite well now, you've managed to coordinate your entire aesthetic around them. I'm having a mini funeral in my head for your cheeks, though. They were always so plump and cheerful and so fuzzy-" she gives a gentle scratch the grey stubble on his chin- "Now, I know you had a rather large hole in your chest, but how is the rest of you doing, hm? Any other issues with your condition?" 

"Doc. I'm dead."

"Well, yes, but you still require air to sustain your life and while I can only assume you don't eat traditional meals anymore, that still qualifies you as somewhat living." Her hands rest themselves on the tops of his shoulders and she never breaks eye contact with him. His face has softened. 

"Angela." His hand reaches for her cheek, suddenly ungloved. She can feel some missing fingers, but she still leans into his touch nonetheless. 

"Yes, Cariño?" 

His eyes close as a sheepish smile is growing on his face, "You're getting much better at pronouncing that." 

"Ah, yes well I have had years to practice with an excellent teacher." She laughs quietly, forgetting all about everyone and everything. "Did you really know I was faking being drunk?" She asks quietly.

"Of course. You were terrible at it, too. There was only one time you were actually drunk."

She groans and drops her head to his armoured chest in defeat. She can feel his chuckle. "Gabe?" She can feel a gentle hum in response from him. "Do you miss the way it was?"

He heaves a big sigh before wrapping his arms around her in a suffocating, yet all the more endearing, hug. "Only sometimes, Liebling." Her heart stops in its tracks as she slowly moves to make eye contact with him. "...Can I kiss you, Angela?"

"Just once and done, but don't say I didn't warn you." She echoes his words, her voice failing her as they crash.

Everything is so different, yet so similar in the same breath. His smell is different but his breath is just as she remembers it. She mourns the loss of half his lips but still shivers at his touch. Her body curves into his just as it had so many times in the golden days of Overwatch. All those fleeting moments, stolen evenings and awful memories all come rushing back at once and while she just wants to enjoy this, she still fights back tears. 

They pull apart as they both hear a door open.

"I miss the old days, Gabe." She hugs him as tightly as she can.

"I miss _you_ , Ange." He pulls her back in for one more stolen kiss.

“I didn’t know the feared Reaper had feelings.” She murmurs against his lips.

A distant voice calls Angela's name as they see her from a distance.

“He doesn’t.” His gloved hand reaches up to cradle her cheek and she closes her eyes. She knows it'll hurt too much.

And just like that, he’s gone. She’s rushed into the med tent by her assistants. No one saw her shadow of a former companion. No one even knew Reaper was on the continent.

As she lay in her bed in the med tent she thinks about what transpired. Why didn’t he kill her? How did he know where she was? Why didn't she make this list? She laughs at herself, of all the things to be upset about she can’t believe her own thoughts of being disappointed about not being on the most feared terrorists kill list.

One thing was for sure though, he had said he missed her. And regardless of his new appearance and perhaps even more surprising to her, despite his unforgivable actions as Reaper - she did too.


End file.
